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“I have never met anyone so enthralled by these things,” Zorya says. She, on the other hand, fidgets with her dagger, seemingly rattled by the sudden relocation.
Gesine smiles. “You have not met Master Scribe Agatha.”
“And I do not plan to. One of you is more than enough.” There’s a slight teasing lilt in her tone, though.
“Let’s go. We have a plan,” Jarek orders, adding, “one that will likely go awry.”
“It’s a good plan! It will not go awry.”
He leads the seven of us through the royal garden, taking a different route than yesterday. The legionaries fan out, Pan sticking with Horik and Loth, Gesine with Zorya. We didn’t bother with the noble guises this time. Hiding one legionary is difficult. Four is impossible, especially when the king’s guard is likely looking for us. Cloaks and blades will have to do.
My pulse races. Jarek’s right. Too many things could go wrong.
I’m wearing my mask again, much to his chagrin. “Any good dreams last night?” I tease.
He sighs heavily. “It is not you. It is that face.”
“Semantics.” I duck as a tree branch flings back. “So, you did?”
“I already regret ever telling you.”
“What happened in it?”
His responding chuckle is deep. “What’s wrong? Missing the king too much that you need lewd visuals to get by?”
“Lewd? How lewd are we talking?”
“Lucretia has quite the imagination. You do not want me spelling it out.”
“You’re so sure it’s her?” It probably is, but I get too much enjoyment from this. “Maybe it’s just your secret crush on me.”
He stops abruptly and I plow into his back before he spins to tower over me. “You are nervous about this absurd plan of yours. When you are nervous, you try to distract yourself with terrible humor.”
“I wouldn’t say terrible.”
His gaze slides over my face. “When you wear that mask, I must keep reminding myself who you are. Be careful, or I might forget for a moment.” He turns away as my mouth gapes.
Jarek and I are always tossing harmless banter, but that felt different. Charged. I don’t know what kinds of things Lucretia is planting in his head, but I should probably order her to stop.
I follow him quietly the rest of the way until we rejoin the others.
“Three children and a fish.” Jarek points at an elaborate water fountain with sprays of water jutting in various directions.
Just as Zander described.
Zorya pauses to scan the area for guards and then sprints in behind it and pushes on a block. A door swings open.
Pan’s face makes a wide O shape. We’re cut from the same cloth, he and I, in our appreciation for secret passageways.
Jarek snaps his fingers and our merry little band of thieves takes the stairs down to the tunnel into the undercroft of the castle.
The guard on duty watches as Loth and I approach the heavy iron doors. We keep our pace casual, unhurried. There’s no one else around, but I would expect this area to be off-limits to everyone save for the royal family. Hence, my borrowed face. I hope Annika won’t mind.
“Your Highness.” The guard bows before his suspicious gaze flitters to the soldier beside me. Of all the legionaries, Loth stands out the least. Still, he stands out, and with each step closer, the guard’s eyes narrow more. His hand moves for his sword hilt. “Princess Annika, do you require—”
Loth is so quick, I hardly notice him move before the guard crumples to the floor, rendered unconscious by a thump against the back of his skull.
“Thank you for not killing him.”
The serene legionary dips his head.
“We have until seven tonight before the next guard arrives.” A few hours to get in and out of the city. What trouble this might cause for Annika later, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to risk using Atticus’s face, knowing he might already be gone to the east, a fact that the castle guard will be well aware of.
That is if he survived. I assume he has.
While Loth binds and gags the unconscious male, I channel Aminadav’s affinity into the keyhole as Gesine taught me. The threads pour in like hot lava, molding into each intricate groove inside. I coax the threads to harden and break off the affinity, leaving a head much like any key sticking out. I give it a turn, and a click sounds.
“How many locks I did not have to pick over the years,” I mutter, mesmerized by this newly acquired skill. I push open the heavy door with a smile of grim satisfaction.
“That is more than enough, and if it isn’t, commandeer his ship and bury your blade in his gut,” Jarek snarls, sizing up the chests of jewels and gold in Horik’s and Loth’s grips.
Both legionaries grunt under the weight of their parcels.
The bound guard in the corner is stirring, so we leave the vault behind, pulling the door shut and locking it.
